


Shameful Metaphors

by Hanna_Tucker



Series: Sleep Apnea [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise, Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Blood and Torture, Gen, Mirror Reed is a lot more than just a one-dimensional psycho, Mirror Reed is bisexual, Mirror Section 31 (Star Trek), Mirror Temporal Agency (Star Trek), Mirror Universe, Past Child Abuse, Science Fiction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, rated Mature just to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-01 21:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanna_Tucker/pseuds/Hanna_Tucker
Summary: At some point along the way, he had thrown down the taser in a fit of rage and gotten more physical. Green blood was smeared across his stinging knuckles, which would no doubt bruise very soon. Malcolm looked at the Vulcan's still, limp form and suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Bile rose up in his throat and he barely made it inside an empty cell before the warm liquid flew out of his mouth and splashed onto the floor. Slumped over on his knees, breath hitching, Malcolm lifted his head and closed his eye, taking in the stony silence.What in the hell was wrong with him?Originally titled "Quote, My Tourniquet"





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if I get any of the canon wrong, but I absolutely REFUSE to watch "In a Mirror Darkly Parts I & II" again (way too much sex in one episode).
> 
> Also, I'm not entirely sure if this story will feature Mirror Reed/Mirror Trip- I'm still finding my footing with the Mirror Universe. Mirror Reed is a really hard character to write, as are all the Mirror characters. And since I don't want to screw this up, I need to tread _very_ carefully with this fic. Even if this winds up not being a Mirror Reed/Mirror Trip fic, I hope you all enjoy this story nonetheless! :)

Malcolm suddenly keeled over backwards, slamming into the wall with a pained scream. His fingers reached up to claw at the patch on his face- ripping that damned piece of metal off in the process. Thrashing around violently, the MACO backed away into a partially shadowed corner, his body shuddering as he struggled for breath. In his hand he clutched that cursed metal patch, the sharp edges digging into his skin. Piercing. Drawing blood. Something somewhere between hysterical laughter and choked sobs wracked Malcolm's body. Thoughts and feelings blurred. Pain was the only relief, however little it was.

His fingers tightened around the metal, now dripping a lovely crimson. Malcolm curled up into an even smaller ball in his little private space, closing his good eye as he focused on the pain in his hand. His door chirped, announcing the presence of someone outside his quarters.

He ignored it.

"Reed? I know you're in there, Major. Internal sensors don't lie- 'specially these futuristic ones." It was Commander Tucker. Malcolm didn't move from the corner he had nestled himself in. Let the engineer stand there and keep talking. Soon enough he'd get fed up and leave. "Major? Hello? Ya alive in there?" Malcolm snorted softly, his grip on the patch loosening, but only a tiny bit. "... Reed? The Empress wants to speak to ya. 'Bout what, I dunno. But if ya don't getcher ass in her new ready room soon..."

Malcolm got the message. Sighing quietly, he called, "I'll be there in a moment, Commander- keep your shirt on." He cringed at the crack in his voice as he spoke. The Brit stumbled into the bathroom and washed his hand clean of his blood, scrubbing so hard that the skin that hadn't been shredded was now raw. He cleaned his patch, too, and for a moment stood there, staring in the mirror at the still-charred tissue that lined the place where his eye once was. Swallowing hard, he placed the metal patch back on his face, hearing the magnetic seal make a mocking click.

After bandaging his damaged hand in gauze, Malcolm finally went to the door and opened it. Tucker was still standing there, evidently waiting for him. The MACO felt the younger man's gaze on him in spite of his effort to ignore him. "Ya took long enough." Malcolm grunted in reply, tugging at his sleeves to better cover the decade-old scars on his wrists. "What happened to your hand?" Tucker asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.

Malcolm didn't give the engineer the satisfaction of a response as they walked down the corridor to the turbolifts. Tucker didn't bother him when they reached the lift, instead ordering the computer to take them to the bridge. It was only when the lift started to move that Tucker pestered him again. "The official coronation's gonna be in ten days. If ya don't wanna be decapitated for failure of attendance by her Highness the 'Bloody Red Queen,' I suggest ya be there."

Malcolm whipped about to glare at Tucker. "You're okay with this? With _her_ sitting on the throne-"

"You think that this is _easy_ for me? Archer's _dead_. The Empress killed him. That bitch... she _murdered_ him. He was my best friend-!"

"He certainly didn't act like it."

_"Before_ we joined Starfleet, he was my best friend," Tucker growled, straightening his back up more to look threatening, as if he was daring Malcolm to continue. "We were like brothers. And despite the way he's treated me over the years, I still... I still cared for him." Malcolm lowered his gaze slightly, shame bubbling up inside him. When he looked back up at Tucker again, he noticed that the engineer's gaze was again locked on his bandaged hand. But the Southerner didn't say a word about it. Instead, sighing tiredly, Tucker explained, "I think the Empress is gonna wantcha to execute the rebels."

"Rebels?" Malcolm asked, turning his body slightly so his damaged hand was out of Tucker's view.

The engineer nodded. "T'Pol, Doctor Phlox, and a couple o' others too. That's probably what she wants to talk to ya 'bout. Execution by firin' squad, electric chair... but I bet you'd prefer to torture them first, though, hmm?" Malcolm couldn't help it- his body shuddered at the thought. If anyone deserved torture, it was he himself. He failed his Captain... just like he failed _her_. He deserved to be punished.

His reaction didn't go unoticed.

"Reed?" Malcolm turned his back to Tucker entirely. Little tremors ran through the soldier's wiry body as he attempted to regain control of the onslaught of emotions assaulting him. Before Tucker could question Malcolm further, the turbolift jerked to a stop and the doors slid open. As Malcolm moved to step out of the lift, a hand wrapped firmly around his upper arm. The Brit halted his escape, turning his head to look at Tucker. There was something in the engineer's eyes that Malcolm couldn't quite identify.

Then Tucker released the older man from his grip. Malcolm lingered for a moment longer, still staring at the blonde in puzzlement. Then he stepped out of the lift onto the bridge, ignoring the intense stares that followed. The MACO reached the door to the Empress' ready room and pressed the button next to said door.

"Come in," Sato's voice called. Malcolm wasted no time and entered. As the door shut behind him, Sato looked up from the data pad in her hands. Her lips lifted into a pleasant smile. "Ah, Major Reed. Take a seat, I'll be with you in just a moment." Malcolm nodded silently, doing as he was told. While he would have much preferred to stand, he'd rather not get on the Empress' bad side.

At least, not until he understood the threat he faced.

"Tell me, Reed," Sato spoke, her eyes not leaving the data pad, "do you know the story of Ceaser and Brutus?"

"Fairly well, yes," Malcolm replied, his anxiety kicking up a notch.

"Ceaser was blinded by his lust for power that he lost sight of what mattered most. The Roman Empire," Sato explained, her eyes flicking up to look at the MACO. "So Brutus tried to put an end to it, to stop Ceaser before he became too powerful. But he failed." She stood up from her chair and slowly sauntered over to Malcolm. She leaned down so their faces were only inches apart.

Malcolm pulled back slightly, startled by their close proximity. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly finding it difficult to meet her gaze. "In a way, Archer and I were like Ceaser and Brutus. Archer was focused only on gaining power. I, on the other hand, I thought of the Empire. _My_ Empire." Again she smiled, this time less pleasantly. "Except, unlike Brutus, I actually succeeded. I _saved_ the Terran Empire." She took a step back, straightening up. "Now it's your turn, Major."

"... My turn...?"

The Empress' smile widened. "It's your turn to save the Empire. To destroy the threats that remain."

Malcolm understood. "You mean the rebels. You want me to kill them."

_"Interrogate_ them first," Sato clarified. "Then when they're no longer useful, execute them. How you do so doesn't matter to me."

Malcolm stood up and saluted, his expression unchanged. "For the Empire." As he lowered his hand back down to his side, he asked, "Was there anything else, Empress?"

"Keep an eye on Commander Tucker," Sato ordered. "There are those who are still loyal to Archer and I doubt that they won't waste an opportunity to take vengeance."

* * *

Malcolm violently dragged a disoriented, drugged-up Vulcan out of his cell in the brig. The MACO shoved the man harshly into a chair, then grabbed his prisoner by the throat. He pressed his fingers hard into the bruised flesh and lowered his face so that it was mere inches away from the Vulcan's. Malcolm tilted his head to the side, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "We're going to have so much fun together. Oh, wait! Fun has to do with _emotion_, doesn't it?" Each word he spat with more venom than the last. "Guess it'll just be me then."

With that, he released the Vulcan and moved to the nearby table that housed Malcolm's favourites. After putting on a pair of gloves, he unlocked a drawer and pulled out a particularly unpleasant looking weapon. "I wonder how well Vulcans hold up to several hundred volts of electricity." He turned to look at the man he was about to torture, that nasty grin still on his face. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to find out." The Vulcan didn't bother offering the soldier the pleasure of a response.

He didn't even glance at him, instead staring into the distance. Malcolm slowly walked towards him, the taser clutched in both hands. Suddenly he reached forward and grabbed the Vulcan by the hair and yanked his head back to they were again eye to eye. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Malcolm let go of his hair and regarded him one last time before slamming the weapon into the other man's chest.

The Vulcan's pained cries echoed throughout the brig and seeped out into the outside corridor.

In spite of his expectations, Malcolm felt no pleasure from it. It frustrated him, to derive nothing from an activity he used to enjoy. If anything, all he felt was a weight in his chest, a weight that grew with each strike, each scream. His frustration increased and so did the pace of each blow, the duration of each shock. It didn't help that every time Malcolm asked a question, the only thing the Vulcan would give him was a tortured stare. Eventually all questioning ceased. But the beatings only intensified.

When it was all over and done, Malcolm felt no more pleased with himself than before.

At some point along the way, he had thrown down the taser in a fit of rage and gotten more physical. Green blood was smeared across his stinging knuckles, which would no doubt bruise very soon. Malcolm looked at the Vulcan's still, limp form and suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Bile rose up in his throat and he barely made it inside an empty cell before the warm liquid flew out of his mouth and splashed onto the floor. Slumped over on his knees, breath hitching, Malcolm lifted his head and closed his eye, taking in the stony silence.

What in the hell was wrong with him?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters I'm not entirely satisfied with, but I've revised it a hundred times already so... anyway, please enjoy, and sorry if this seems like a filler, but I am still setting stuff up and I really don't want to rush this.

"Madeline."

Malcolm twisted around in his sheets as her name slipped softly from his lips. No scream. He had done enough of that in his youth, back when these things still haunted him. But no longer. No longer. He had learned to repress the memories long ago. Sometimes they still slipped through the cracks, sneaking into the realm of his dreams.

The MACO sat up slowly, letting the sheets fall away to expose his bare upper body to the chilled atmosphere of the _Defiant._ He lifted his head wearily to look at the luminous clock embedded in the wall.

It was far too early for his shift.

The Empress hadn't been too happy to learn the Malcolm had killed one of the prisoners during his interrogation. She threatened that if it happened again that Travis Mayweather would be getting an early _promotion_\- she had stretched out the word to make her intentions perfectly clear. Malcolm understood. He of course promised her that he would stay his hand until she ordered otherwise.

This had appeased her only slightly.

Realising that this was going to be one of those sleepless nights, Malcolm bent down, wincing at the ache in his back as he reached for his shirt, which had been deposited earlier that evening. After pulling the revoltingly-coloured cloth up and over his body, he stood and with his thumb punched the button next to his door. Malcolm wandered the empty corridors aimlessly, not knowing- or even caring- where he was going.

Soon enough he found himself in the mess hall, arms crossed as he stared out the window and watched the stars fly by.

_"Malcolm?"_

_Madeline sprawled out on the grass next to her brother, who stared silently up at the clouds splotched across the sky. "Hm?" Malcolm turned his head towards her, the irritating little blades of grass digging into his skin, making it itch. At the moment, he didn't really care. They were nothing compared to the ache in his throat as he struggled to keep the weakening walls up._

_"Are you okay?"_

_Malcolm averted his gaze from her, looking back up at the clouds._ Reeds don't show weakness. _"I'm fine."_

_"I'll take that as a no." There was a pause as Madeline shuffled onto her side. "You want to talk about it?"_

_"I said I'm fine!" Malcolm snapped, whipping his head around to glare at her. The hurt in her eyes made his throat ache all the_ _more_. Reeds don't cry._ "I... just want to be alone right now. I'm sorry, Maddie-"_

_His words had no effect on her. The damage was already done. Madeline sat up, her normally warm sky-blue gaze now hard like stone. "No, I'm sorry, Malcolm. For thinking that a 'pathetic little girl' like me could possibly help my brother." Malcolm flinched as she echoed the words that their father often spat at her when he was in one of his fits. Looking away, Madeline_ _got to her feet and slowly trudged away, the pain that they've shared over the years trailing in her wake._

_And Malcolm made no move to stop her._

Malcolm shuffled out of the mess hall and continued his trek, his brow furrowed with concentration. Where did it all go wrong? When did it all begin to fall apart? Stepping into the armoury, he immediately headed towards the training equipment. Not bothering to wrap his hands, Malcolm swung a fist at the punching bag. He derived no pleasure out of beating the stuffing out of a bag- it wasn't the same as when he did so with a prisoner.

_Malcolm tugged his heavy overcoat more tightly around his body, ignoring the rain as it soaked his shivering body. His stopped dead in his tracks as his gaze locked on his target. Without hesitation, he crossed the street and kicked open that cursed door. Ignoring the bitter smell that wafted out into the damp street and the intense stares that followed his every move, Malcolm made his way to the table. The very same table where his father sat, so inebriated that his speech was barely coherent, groping a young woman in a dress so short it might as well have been a shirt._

_The seductive smirk on her face transformed into one of confusion when she saw Malcolm watching them. Stuart's stupid drink-ridden grin warped into an angry scowl as he stood to face his son._

_"What are _you_ doing _here?"_ Stuart hissed, his eyes narrowed, the lines on his face deep with anger._

_"The MACOs are at our house," Malcolm told him, his voice tinted with a calm venom. Stuart opened his mouth to shoot a vicious reply but the younger man cut him off. "Save your breath_._ There's nothing you can say to me to hurt me anymore." His lips contorted into a sickening smile as he continued, "Just know that everything that happens from here on out... it's your own bloody fault."_

_"Go to hell," Stuart snarled viciously. He turned back to face his date for the night, only to find she had vanished. _Smart decision,_ Malcolm decided grimly as he __shook his head._

_"I'm already there. Always have been." Malcolm turned away from the older man he loathed with a passion. With a few long strides, he was out of the pub and on the streets. A pair of MACOs approached, rifles slung over their shoulders. "He's in there," Malcolm told them. "And in no shape to resist, for that matter."_

_"Very good," the MACO on the right replied, straightening up a bit. "It's a shame he can't fight back. Just like the rest of these goddamned drunks."_

_Malcolm merely watched silently as the two soldiers entered the pub, then turned away. It was over._

_It was finally over._

The speed and force of the blows Malcolm delivered to the punching bag increased tenfold, as did the turbulence of the emotions that were crashing just beneath the surface.

_I'm already there. Always have been._

_"You are dismissed."_

_A sweaty Malcolm threw his clothing bag down on the bench, seething with a barely contained rage. He ignored his fellow cadets, who gathered with each other in their little cliques, chattering about how excited they all were to be so close to joining the MACOs, about how proud their parents were of them for honouring their Empire._

_"Hi."_

_Malcolm lifted his head briefly to glare at the source of the voice. A young man about his age stood leaning against a locker, his bright green eyes a startling contrast to his dark hair._

_"What you did up there today was pretty impressive. I won't be surprised if you get command of your own squadron."_

_Malcolm merely stared, his eyes searching the other man for any signs of aggression or foul play. So far he had found none._

_"What's your name?"_

_"Who's asking?" Malcolm growled threateningly, daring the stranger to say another word._

_Said stranger stepped towards the shorter man, his hand outstretched, a pleasant smile spread across his lips. "Ezra Harris is asking." Malcolm stared at the hand as if it were a deadly snake waiting to strike. Then he took it in his own and shook, his silvery eyes flicking up to Ezra's face with cautious suspicion._

_"Malcolm Reed."_

Malcolm slammed his fist viciously into the tough cloth in front of him with a scream of rage. His body trembling with the waves that had finally broken the dam, he continued to pelt the bag, vehement curses muttered in between, until his knuckles were thoroughly bloodied. He looked down at his hands and smiled, relishing in the sight of his wounds, in the stinging that assaulted his sensitive nerves.

Wiping away the crimson staining his hands, Malcolm stalked out of the armoury and back into the hall. And then he stopped. He stood and listened silently, taking in the hum of the engines, the soft creaking of the bulkheads-

"I'm not an easy person to sneak up on," Malcolm snarled, turning around. His steely grey eye met cautious blue. The clearly much younger man- really, he couldn't have been more than twenty-seven- shifted nervously on his feet, his gaze flicking away from Malcolm a moment before locking on again. And the outfit this stranger wore was utterly ridiculous. But that wasn't what drew Malcolm's attention. It was the unfamiliarity of the young man's face that had caught his attention.

Malcolm knew every face of the crew.

And this man clearly wasn't one of them.

Instinctively the MACO reached his hand down to where he would normally find his dagger- only to remember that he had taken it off when he had gone to bed that night. _C__areless bitch._

"Hello, Major."

Soft.

That was the first word to come to Malcolm's mind when he heard this man's voice. It was so smooth, not like silk but like glass. Glass that was so wonderfully fragile. Glass that if you hit it hard enough, would shatter. It caught him off-guard, something else that wasn't easy when it came to Major Malcolm Reed. He hadn't realised just how starved he was of the sound, the sound of a voice like this. Not harsh like the elements of the Andorian north pole, but gentle.

_Like Madeline's,_ Malcolm thought with a twinge of... _something._ Not _sadness_, surely. He was far too old for such childish things.

"Who are you?" The MACO asked quietly, still eyeing the intruder carefully, waiting for the inevitable show of hostility.

"Normally when people interact, both parties say hello before trading names," the younger man replied, offering a small, almost _shy_ smile. "But then again, where my line of work is concerned, greetings aren't really a thing." Malcolm straightened up in an attempt to make himself look more terrifying.

The man's expression didn't change in the slightest. Apparently this intruder, while clearly timid in terms of social interaction, was not easily scared by people like Malcolm.

"My name is Daniels. Alan Daniels." Daniels stepped towards the Brit, his hand extended. Malcolm, once more startled by the echo of the motion, took a step away. For a brief moment, he again felt Ezra's warm fingers brushing the back of his hand. And as quickly as the phantom of a touch had come, it slipped away.

Malcolm didn't take Daniels' hand. He kept his arms at his sides, watching and waiting. "Sorry. I guess the historians finally got something right for once," Daniels commented vaguely. "Kind of a shame."

_Whatever the hell that means._

"Give me one good reason not to snap your neck right here and now," Malcolm growled, his fists clenching. He was losing his patience- he had always hated it when people played these idiotic mind games with him. When they did they wound up six feet under very quickly. Though where Malcolm was concerned, it was usually double.

"Two words. Section 31," Daniels answered calmly. So calmly you might have thought he was talking about water polo of all things. Two seconds later he was shoved up violently against a bulkhead, an arm pressed hard against his throat, effectively constricting the airway. Malcolm's face was inches away from his, lines thickened with a learned hatred.

"You're with _them?"_ The words were hissed- _spat._ "Bad reason if you ask me."

Still Daniels was not afraid. He didn't struggle against it. He didn't try to break away. His eyebrows quirked up imperceptibly, like he was actually _daring_ Malcolm to kill him- which only made the MACO wonder if the man had a death wish. Or maybe Daniels was just an idiot. "Section 31 isn't what you think it is. History books have a way of being... _inaccurate,"_ Daniels explained, his voice still as soft as it was before. "And I'm not _with_ Section 31, per say, and we've had our conflicts. But at the moment we share a common interest. An interest that you almost certainly share."

All this talk about history books did not help. A fleeting notion wormed its way into his head- he promptly squashed it. No, it simply wasn't possible. "And _what,_ may I ask, is that?" Malcolm demanded, not in the least convinced.

Daniels smiled again, this time grimly. "Empress Sato _dead."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter written, but I've been having a lot of trouble nailing Mirror Reed's character for some of this (which needless to say was incredibly frustrating.) But after re-watching the Enterprise episode "Shockwave, Part I" and talking to my friend XSayuriX, I got a few ideas on how to get things moving. :) Also, credit for the transmission scene at the end of the chapter goes to XSayuriX (also, thank you so much for helping me out, by the way!) Hopefully now that it's done, updates will be more frequent.
> 
> Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! :) This chapter isn't perfect (and even though I tried very hard to take it slow at the beginning it still feels rushed to me).
> 
> Also, one last note: I got a second email address and it seems that the glitch that wouldn't let me post stories on Fanfiction.Net is gone now, so I'll put up some of my stuff there too (not all of it, though, just some).

"Empress Sato _dead."_

Daniels remained silent as Malcolm processed these words. After a moment, when the MACO did not reply, Daniels continued, "I don't expect you to care about the reasons why she must die- what I expect is for you to want to kill her _yourself_. Section 31 and I can help make that happen."

A twisted smile spread across Malcolm's lips. "Sorry, but... you know, I'm afraid I that just don't quite believe you." It was Daniels' turn to smile, much to the other man's confusion. A soft click emanated from below.

Malcolm looked down at the Temporal Agent's hand to see a small object nestled between his fingers. "Bloody hell," the Brit muttered under his breath. And then the world around them suddenly warped into unrecoginisable proportions, sending his thoughts into a spiral. The MACO stumbled forward and tripped over a loose stone in the mucky dirt. In spite of his frantic efforts to save himself, he fell and tumbled his way down into a muddy crater. His body slammed violently into another object near the end of the slope, effectively cutting his descent short.

In his disjointed haze, the ring of deadly explosions reached Malcolm's ears. The scent of human blood and scorched flesh was thick in the air and in the back of his mind it registered that the object he had bumped into during his fall had been someone's corpse. He felt the stickiness of the dead soldier's blood, smelled the stench of burnt meat. There was a sickening series of snaps as his arm accidentally crushed what was left of the corpse's ribcage. The sensations were almost overwhelming. _Dammit, Reed! Focus!_ Malcolm struggled to sit up, elbows digging deep into the muck as he did so. "One step at a time, Reed," he told himself in a low whisper.

Slowly but surely, he lay down on his front, ignoring the sharp pains assaulting his limbs. Malcolm inched his way up the crater, still taking it slow. He didn't once look up- instead he maintained all of his attention on his movements. He didn't bother himself about where he was- or where Daniels was, for that matter. Survival was paramount. Daniels had to wait.

Malcolm's hand brushed the edge of the crater. He dug his fingers into the wet dirt and pulled himself upward- just enough to give him a good view of his environment. Bodies lay strewn across the ground in grotesque positions, most of them mangled and burned beyond recognition. The few trees still standing were dead, splintered and scorched. Puffs of smoke rose from the craters dotted across the battlefield. He knew this place. He knew what happened here.

"Ah, there you are." A hand reached down and tugged the MACO out of the crater to his feet. Malcolm locked eyes with Daniels, who was now decked in a MACO uniform- and that was when he realised. The soldier reached up to brush the side of his face to be sure. The metal patch was gone. So was the scarred tissue that once lined his face.

"... what the hell are you?" Malcolm asked, cringing at the slight tremour in his voice.

In a flash, the two men were in his quarters. Malcolm stepped backwards, pulling his arm away from Daniels. The latter was once more dressed in his strange... _uniform, _the MACO assumed. They were back in the present, Malcolm realised, as he once more felt the weight of that damned piece of metal on his face.

Daniels offered the other man a small smile. "I'm what's called a Temporal Agent, Major. I assume you remember that battle. Nearly all of your squadron were killed that day." He paused a moment, letting his words sink in. "That was no illusion you just experienced. What you saw, heard, and felt was all real."

"If you have the power to travel time," Malcolm growled threateningly, "then why do you need the Empress dead _now?_ Why _this_ point in time? Why not kill her earlier? And what part do I play in this? Obviously you would have done it yourself if you didn't need me."

"Because this is the point in time in which the outcome is the most likely to be favourable," Daniels explained. "Our technology is far more advanced than yours. To put it in terms you can understand, we can use it to 'see' what will transpire if events take a certain course, altered or otherwise. It's not perfect, but... let's just say it's come in handy on more than one occasion."

"Naturally."

"Is that sarcasm I hear?"

Malcolm deepened his scowl. "I find it hard to believe that there aren't more suitable points in time for you to use."

"For every action we take, there's always a consequence," Daniels retorted. "But that's not your problem, now is it? How our actions here effect the future? No. That's _my_ problem. Your problem is with the Empress."

"My loyalty is to the _Terran Empire,_ I will not-"

"No. Your loyalty was to _Jonathan Archer. _And now he's dead, murdered by his former mistress. Lying to yourself will _not_ change anything. Accepting the truth, and doing something about it _will_. So I ask you this- are you ready to fight one more war?" Malcolm didn't answer, not that he had a reason to. The Temporal Agent already knew his decision. Daniels smiled approvingly at the MACO as he said with an air of finality, "Welcome to the Temporal-Section 31 Alliance, Major Reed."

* * *

_Malcolm dropped his school bag on the floor next to his feet and kicked off his shoes, leaving them by the door. Finally loosening the tie that always seemed to strangle him throughout the day, he stepped into the living room where he was certain he would find Madeline parked in front of her computer, writing. But she wasn't there. There was no sound, only an eerie silence that settled around Malcolm ominously. Feet shuffling from tile to hardwood, he walked into the library. His father was not there, but that wasn't unusual nor was it disappointing. Stuart Reed hardly ever was home anymore and even when he was, his company was... less than pleasant._

_Malcolm strained his ears for anything, any indication of life. And there was none._

_He turned his head towards the staircase outside the library and took a step towards it, then another, and another. He felt like he was possessed, having no control over his body as he walked up the stairs, his heart freezing with dread, dread of something that he feared so long would happen. A dread of something he hoped would never happen. Praying that he was wrong, praying that what was happening wasn't real, Malcolm reached the top of the stairs. Callused fingers brushed the brass handle, then sealed themselves around it. He turned it and let go, the wooden barrier slowly creaking open. His feet locked in place, unable to move, he gasped for air as he took in the sight before him-_

"Tucker to Reed!"

Malcolm jerked out of his stupor, blinking slowly as he tried to remember what the hell he was even supposed to be doing.

"Commander Tucker to Major Reed! Hell, _Earth_ to Major Reed! I swear to God and everythin' that's both holy and _unholy_\- if ya don't answer in the next three seconds, I'm gonna come down there and shove my foot-" Malcolm ignored the vehement threats and curses that followed, instead shuffling uncomfortably in the Jeffries tube as he fumbled in his pocket for his communicator.

The MACO snagged it with his fingers and lifted the tiny device to his face. "Reed here. I'm almost done with the energy manifolds and we should be good to go."

"About damn time," Tucker snarked over the comlink. "You been in there for an hour. I was startin' to think you finally kicked the bucket. Not that it would've been a bad thing."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have yet to be kicking any buckets, Commander. I'll be done with the repairs in a moment."

"Uh huh." Tucker sounded rather skeptical, if the tone of his voice was anything to go by. "Try not to die before ya get finished." Malcolm didn't even bother acknowledging the engineer. He snapped the communicator shut and picked up the hydrospanner once more. As he watched the little red beam of light shoot up into the exposed fuse, he silently reprimanded himself for letting his emotions get to him again.

_What the bloody hell is wrong with me?_

What, indeed.

Torture was no longer a source of pleasure- if anything, even the thought sent Malcolm's stomach spiraling. Not that the Brit would ever admit it, of course. As if that weren't enough, his sleepless nights became more frequent, and subsequently so did his wanderings around the ship. Daniels naturally took those nights as an opportunity to meet and discuss the situation in more detail. Malcolm scowled at the thought of the Temporal Agent as he replaced the panel over the energy manifold.

He didn't trust Daniels for one minute. There was more to it. But Malcolm wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to cut the Empress' taste of power short. He would just have to make sure he was prepared when the time came.

_Malcolm smirked sadistically as he again swung his fist, relishing in the loud _crack_ it brought as it collided with the Andorian's face. Drops of life-giving blue decorated both men, oozing from the alien's mutilated face. His nose was broken and his eyes were drooping weakly. The Andorian's previously sharp cheeks and forehead were now swollen from both bruises and infection. His left antenna was missing, a bloodied stump in its place._

_"Where are they?" Malcolm snarled, bending down so he and his prisoner were eye-level. "Where are the rest of your rebels?"_

_The Andorian laughed darkly, letting his head fall slightly forward. "They aren't _my_ rebels. We don't belong to anyone. Not you, not the Emperor, and certainly not the Terran Empire. What we fight for is something you will never understand. Something you humans used to have, before the-"_

_Malcolm, weary of the alien's uninformative ramblings, again slammed his clenched hand into the bloodied face. "I'm growing tired of these games, Shran. Tell me where the rest of the rebels are, and I just might make your death merciful." Shran glared up at the MACO defiantly, not giving him the pleasure of a response. "Would you prefer it if I removed the other one?" Malcolm raised his fist to deliver another blow when a hand gently grabbed his wrist from behind, restraining._

_"That is _enough."_ Malcolm whipped his head around, ready to rip the head off of whoever had the audacity to interrupt _his _interrogation- and make the mistake of sneaking up on him, for that matter- when his eyes met Ezra's. "That's enough, Corporal Reed," Ezra continued calmly. "Get cleaned up. We'll resume tomorrow." Malcolm tore his wrist from the other man's grasp and made his way out of the interrogation chamber. Fuming, the MACO stomped to the showers. He promptly stripped, dropping his clothes just outside the shower, and stood there in the cold spray, scrubbing his skin clean of blood, both dried and fresh._

_Malcolm scowled as he watched the coloured stains slowly trail down into the drain. He would have preferred to not have taken a shower- he enjoyed the scent of blood on his own skin. It felt right to him somehow. In the back of his mind he wondered if this was how his father felt in these situations. His scowl deepened at the thought of the man._

_No matter._

_Stuart Reed had been dead for a long time. There was no reason to dwell on him any longer. When one joins the MACOs, recruits are taught to shed every bit of their former selves. Good, bad- all of it was to be cast away. Apparently Ezra hadn't quite gotten the memo. _ _For some reason that the Brit couldn't fathom, Ezra was still hung up on his own father's death. Still mourning, as if the past ten years hadn't been enough._

_It was pathetic. And yet..._

Malcolm crawled through the vent opening, and naturally was greeted by Commander Tucker himself. The MACO straightened his stance as he glared at the Southerner. "The next time you need me to do your dirty work, do it yourself on your own time. I'm responsible for carrying out the Empress' will, not acting as your _errand boy."_

"Two in a row," Tucker drawled unamusedly. "Now that's gotta be a record. And here I thought you never made a joke in your life."

Malcolm's impassive expression did not change in the slightest. "How long have you been standing there?" Not that he particularly cared, but he couldn't help but feel suspicious of the Commander's recent behaviour. Over the past few days their interactions with each other had become- God forbid!- _civil._ That was more than Malcolm could say for their relationship since _Enterprise _left space dock four years ago. It was off-putting, to say the least.

Tucker shrugged. "Long enough to where my stomach's complainin'. Now get outta here, I've got work to do." The other man offered no word in reply, instead pushing past the engineer to leave.

Malcolm could barely stand to be in Tucker's presence much longer anyway.

* * *

Daniels pressed a button on his desk and swiveled about in his chair to face the viewscreen attached to the wall. He let out a low sigh of relief. "Agent Harris. I was beginning to think something had happened to you."

Harris, a man of about sixty years of age by now, glared back at Daniels with icy blue eyes and a deeply-set scowl. "I was busy and no doubt so were you. Do you have news on Major Reed?"

"Yes, actually," Daniels answered. "He's in. Surprisingly, he was a lot easier to convince than the simulations predicted."

"Hmm. And the others?"

"They're in too. I just need to set up a meeting with all of them so we can begin." Daniels paused, then leaned forward in his chair, his gaze critical. "I need to know that it isn't going to be a problem."

"That _what_ isn't going to be a problem?" Harris demanded, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"I know how you feel about Reed," Daniels replied. "I know you think he's responsible for what happened to your-"

"Agent Daniels, I thought we agreed to only discuss matters _relevant_ to our operations. What hostile feelings I have are unimportant. We should both only concern ourselves with the mission. Now if that's all, I have a squadron to be attending to. _Good night_, Daniels."

With that, the screen went black. Staring at his reflection on the monitor for a moment, Daniels sighed and leaned back in his chair. "This is exactly what I was afraid of."


End file.
